心之伊甸

一见钟情

波兰作家：辛波丝卡


They’re both convinced
　　他们两人都相信

　　that a sudden passion joined them.
　　是一股突发的热情让他俩交会。

　　Such certainty is beautiful,
　　这样的笃定是美丽的，

　　but uncertainty is more beautiful still.
　　但变化无常更是美丽。

　　Since they’d never met before, they’re sure
　　既然从未见过面，所以他们确定

　　that there’d been nothing between them.
　　彼此并无任何瓜葛。

　　But what’s the word from the streets, staircases, hallways---
　　但是听听自街道、楼梯、走廊传出的话语──

　　perhaps they’ve passed by each other a million times?
　　他俩或许擦肩而过一百万次了吧？

　　I want to ask them
　　我想问他们

　　if they don’t remember---
　　是否记不得了──

　　a moment face to face
　　在旋转门

　　in some revolving door?         
　　面对面那一刻？

　　perhaps a "sorry" muttered in a crowd?         
　　或者在人群中喃喃说出的“对不起”？

　　a cut "wrong number" caught in the receiver?     
　　或者在听筒截获的唐突的“打错了”？

　　but I know the answer.         
　　然而我早知他们的答案。

　　No, they don’t remember.        
　　是的，他们记不得了。

　　They’d be amazed to hear        
　　他们会感到诧异，倘若得知

　　that Chance has been toying with them now for years.         
　　缘分已玩弄他们多年。

　　Not quite ready yet         
　　尚未完全做好，

　　to become their Destiny,        
　　成为他们命运的准备，

　　it pushed them close, drove them apart,         
　　缘分将他们推近，驱离，

　　it barred their path,         
　　阻挡他们的去路，

　　stifling a laugh,         
　　憋住笑声

　　and then leaped aside.         
　　然后闪到一边。

　　There were signs and signals,   
　　有一些迹象和信号存在，

　　even if they couldn’t read them yet.         
　　即使他们尚无法解读。

　　Perhaps three years ago         
　　也许在三年前

　　or just last Tuesday         
　　或者就在上个星期二

　　a certain leaf fluttered from one shoulder to another?         
　　有某片叶子飘舞于肩与肩之间？

　　Something was dropped and then picked up.        
　　有东西掉了又捡了起来？

　　Who knows, maybe the ball that vanished         
　　天晓得，也许是那个

　　into childhood’s thicket?       
　　消失于童年灌木丛中的球？

　　There were doorknobs and doorbells         
　　还有事前已被触摸

　　where one touch had covered another         
　　层层覆盖的

　　beforehand.    
　　门把和门铃。

　　Suitcases checked and standing side by side.     
　　检查完毕后并排放置的手提箱。

　　One night, perhaps, the same dream,         
　　有一晚，也许同样的梦，

　　grown hazy by morning.         
　　到了早晨变得模糊。

　　Every beginning
　　每个开始

　　is only a sequel, after all,    
　　毕竟都只是续篇，

　　and the book of events         
　　而充满情节的书本

　　is always open halfway through. 
　　总是从一半开始看起。